 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
100
THE TRUE GREATNESS.
Not bewilder'd, though fate have bereft us
Of the strength we had counted our own,
Not dismay'd, though the sunlight have left us
At noontide alone.
Of the strength we had counted our own,
Not dismay'd, though the sunlight have left us
At noontide alone.
No, nor stunn'd with the stroke of our sorrow,
Though, 'mid perils and pestilent air,
We may seek where the heart loved to borrow,
And help is not there.
Though, 'mid perils and pestilent air,
We may seek where the heart loved to borrow,
And help is not there.
“Scanty praise!” do you cry, shallow reader?
“Weak worship, scarce better than scorn!
Will ye praise him for lord and lost leader,
Whose loss can be borne?
“Weak worship, scarce better than scorn!
Will ye praise him for lord and lost leader,
Whose loss can be borne?
101
Is the hero not great by the token
That without him no work can be well,
As the arm of the Spartan fell broken,
When Brasidas fell?”
That without him no work can be well,
As the arm of the Spartan fell broken,
When Brasidas fell?”
Oh! but is it not, comrades, his glory,
That we dare look alone on the foe?
That ye cried, as he went out before ye,
God help us! but go?
That we dare look alone on the foe?
That ye cried, as he went out before ye,
God help us! but go?
Man worships the splendours that blind him,
Then vanish; but show me, who can,
One that leaves his own greatness behind him—
This, this is the man.
Then vanish; but show me, who can,
One that leaves his own greatness behind him—
This, this is the man.
| Poems by James Rhoades | |